M is for Mycroft
by ExceptionallyAverage
Summary: In a government office in London, a tall man frantically searches for his missing spouse. In a hospital in New York a man with amnesia tries to fit back into his life. (established Mystrade, Johnlock)
1. Chapter 1

The middle aged man stood in the hospital bathroom staring into the mirror.

"Ryan." He said to his reflection. "Ryan Stone. Hello, I'm

Ryan Stone."

It felt wrong in his mouth. It sounded wrong in his ears. The

Doctors said this was normal. They said that as he reclaimed his memories, it would stop feeling fake.

He hoped so.

"Mr. Stone are you okay in there?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Just coming out now."

Ryan reentered his hospital room and moved to the bed. On it lay a notebook filled with page after page of Mrs. Stone- Susan- his wife's handwriting. She had spent the last week carefully transcribing his whole life for him from his birth in London, to his parents deaths, then to his marriage and right up to his accident one year ago carefully paper clipping in birth certificates, drivers licenses, deeds and any significant documents.

She had not described his time in the coma.

Susan was being very patient with him. He felt guilty as hell each time he pulled away from her touch. He could see how much it hurt her that he just didn't recognize her.

Today he was going to Susan's house- his house. He would see his kids and he would have to pretend a little for them. He had memorized their names and birthdays and such.

He put on the t shirt and shorts that Mrs.- that Susan had left for him.

Even the clothing felt all wrong.

He hoped his memories would start to come back soon.


	2. Chapter 2

"Calm down, Mycroft," Sherlock said, as he paced the room studying the maps, diagrams and lists his brother had pinned on the wall. "You don't think as well when you get like this."

"It has been over two weeks now, Sherlock," the taller man replied. "I have no leads and neither do you. I have every government keeping an eye out and there has been no trace."

"Sherlock," John's voice said from behind his laptop and a stack of files. "If it were me wo-"

"Shut up, John," Sherlock snapped. "Don't say that."

"We'll find him," Anderson said in a reassuring voice from the doorway.

"Don't worry."

"Shut up, Anderson," all three men barked.

"Don't promise what you can't deliver," Sherlock said before walking over and slamming the door.

"Mycroft, we will do everything we can to help search for Lestrade," John said, standing up. "And that's a promise that will be delivered." Then turning to Sherlock, he added "Let's go talk to the witness again."


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan walked through the door of the house he had purchased seven and a half years ago, with his wife whom he had married 18 years ago.

His twin three year olds, the result of five years of trying and eight years of fertility treatments didn't recognize him very well, though how could they? They had been two when he had the accident. They gave him carefully colored 'welcome home' cards and went off to play. His wife then introduced him to Charlie, the eleven month old baby born just after his accident.

He recognized the kids from the albums Susan had brought to him every day for the past week. She really was so patient.

On the wall was a big framed picture from their wedding. He looked so happy and in love. He hated not feeling anymore.

Susan lead him to the guest room where she unpacked his little luggage into the already filled drawers. "I moved all your stuff in here, so you could have privacy. I was thinking we'll take things slow between us for now. Get to know each other again."

She left him alone in the unfamiliar room filled with a lifetime of personal items and belongings that held no significance to him.

He picked up the mobile on his dresser and searched the contacts. Nothing familiar. He picked a name- Joey- and hit call.

"Ryan!" An exuberant voice rang over the line. "Hey! Great to hear your up and about! When're you coming back to the shop?"

"Sorry, bye," Ryan said quickly and hung up.

Joey must work at the mechanic with him, he concluded. But he couldn't go back to work because he didn't remember how to fix a car.

Suddenly, Ryan felt trapped. He needed space, air. He stood up and walked to the foyer.

"Where're you going?" Susan called

"Walk."

"Take your coat," she advised "it's chilly."

"Where is my coat?"

"It's on the hooks by the door.

Ryan walked out into the fresh suburb air. But something was plaguing him. Something about 'my coat'


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan was pleased. He had moved back into his suburban house two and a half weeks ago and things were starting to feel normal. He was more comfortable in his skin and clothes and name. He was relearning the workings of a car and he and Susan had gone on a few dates that went wonderfully.

He also discovered that his hair wasn't naturally brown anymore. He had started dying it and she had kept it up for him. So that was disappointing.

The kids were starting to treat him like their pop again, he had visited his parents graves and had started meeting up with his old friends. He still couldn't grasp at any old memories, but his present life was working fine.

He thought about all this as he flipped through the many available networks, but he couldn't recognize any of the programs.

Hell, he still hadn't figured out what genre he liked.

He finally settled on some cop show with a hot male lead (he'd discovered he was bisexual last week when he found his porn collection) trying to solve a robbery.

A few minutes into the show, hit male lead got a witness report of a car speeding away from the scene.

"Put an APB on the car," Ryan heard himself say. "And check nearby security footage."

On screen, hot male lead ordered his men to do just that.

And suddenly Ryan knew. He was a cop show freak.

Mycroft half woke up and rolled over to Gregory before a few things became clear.

Gregory was not here. The couch in his office wasn't wide enough for rolling over. Sherlock was in the room and had just watched him tumble off said couch.

"What are you doing here?" The disheveled politician snapped at his brother.

"We need to talk." The detective said, staring down at Mycroft.

"No. We don't."

"Yes we do. You're letting the government fall apart. You're letting yourself fall-"

"Shut up," the politician interrupted. "Don't say it."

"-apart. It's been two months," Sherlock continued. "You have to think that he might b-"

Two gunshots rang through the air. Sherlock turned and blinked at the billet holes in the wall behind his head, then back at the gun that had materialized in Mycroft's hand.

"Do not bring that up again."

Sherlock took a seat at Mycroft's desk and picked up a paper.

"Russian spy found at top secret weapons production base." He read. "Two weeks ago. You never replied."

"Leave, Sherlock."

"A threat of nuclear activity in Central London if demands aren't met. Last month. You never responded." Sherlock looked down at his brother and continued "You've been neglecting this country for two months now. Maybe it's time to stop look-"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft barked, pulling himself to his feet. "I will never, not now, not ever, never for a moment stop looking. Is that clear enough, you dimwitted freak?"

He stormed off to his bathroom and slammed the door.

He looked into the mirror and met his own defeated eyes. A lot had changed in the past two months. He had let his hair grow out and it looked awful, uncombed, not washed nearly as often as it should be. There were prominent bags under his eyes and he was sure his breath must smell from a mile away. His shirt was rumpled and he had put it on- yesterday? Two days ago? Last week? His nails, usually manicured to perfection were long and ragged.

Vaguely, he thought back to what mrs. Hudson had said. "He wouldn't want to see you like this." He knew Gregory wouldn't find him attractive like this, but he didn't care so long as he could find him.

He heard Sherlock move to stand onthe other side of the door. "I'm sorry," he whispered "I shouldn't have called you that." He knew Sherlock couldn't hear him, but fancied that his brother knew anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes Susan talked about him. When she thought he couldn't hear, she would complain on the phone to various friends.

"I know Monica," she would say. "But it's still hard. We can't even sleep in the same bed together."

"He's so different," she would cry. "He even talks differently. He calls the tv 'the Telly'. He hasn't said that in at least 15 years. I'm sorry, I'm trying."

Ryan tried. He was careful with his words, using the ones she expected. He sat a little closer on the couch to try to adjust to being near her.

But there was no spark. He didn't feel much for her beyond the obligations of a husband and gratitude for her help.

Actually, there weren't very many things he reacted to with any sort of familiarity.

The cop shows which brought this strange sort of nostalgia.

And "my coat"

For some reason those words made him feel longing, need, affection and he couldn't understand it.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan never did relearn car mechanics. He eventually took a job in a local deli, relieved to meet people who didn't expect him to remember things. Abby, josh and Noel hadn't known him before the accident so they didn't comment on his new sense of humor or his new taste in foods.

The next problem came because of Abby's wedding.

Susan had pulled out an old suit and for the first time since he woke up three months ago he got dressed up.

And it felt right.

The suit felt comfortable in ways shorts and a tee never had. The suit... Suited him.

"No! That's it! I can't take it anymore!" Susan screamed when he came down the next day in an Oxford and slacks.

"What? What did I do?" He asked, startled and horrified.

"You changed. And I put up with it and put up with it, but look at you for god's sakes! All dressed up for work at the god damn deli."

"Actually, I was thinking of applying for an office job."

"Of course," she grumbled. "I marry a mechanic and he changes into a stuffy office worker!" She turned and marched to her room.

"What are you doing?" He called after her nervously.

"I'm going to Jessi- who's my sister in case you've forgotten again. I'll see you when I'm less tempted to throttle you." He could hear her in the next room throwing things into a suitcase. "Go. Go apply for a fucking office job in some stuffy office building uptown!"

He knew she was angry. He knew she was hurt. But this once he put himself first and he DID get that office job.

And he stocked up on suits and loafers.


	7. Chapter 7

He almost didn't notice him. Most people never would have.

But Mycroft Holmes wasn't most people.

The man who would recognize Gregory by the color of his

skin alone, who could recognize Gregory's suit just based on its measurements,

who could spot his husbands profile base on just a chin or nose or any part you

wanted to show him, noticed the businessman and knew who he was.

Suddenly he understood and it was so obvious, he wasn't sure how he'd never seen it.

Gregory had not been shot or kidnapped. He had not driven into a ditch and died alone. He hadn't been tortured or locked away. He wasn't hurt or dead or missing.

No. Gregory had simply noticed what Mycroft always knew he would- that leaving Mycroft was the biggest favor he could do himself.

Gregory had dyed his hair, changed the style, changed his clothes and vanished, knowing he

wouldn't be traced. Knowing that Mycroft would look in all the wrong places.

Mycroft wanted to approach him. He really, really did. But he wouldn't be that

selfish. He would let Gregory keep his distance and his anonymity.

Mycroft looked at his reflection in a shop window. He needed a haircut.

Now.


	8. Chapter 8

Ryan had been confused by Susan's refusal to let him go on the business trip. London was his hometown. Maybe he'd remember something.

He had gone despite her and she had gone back to Jessi's.

It had been a quiet trip. Pleasant and relaxed. He even got a welcome feeling of familiarity in some parts of the city.

It was all going so well until the lunatic showed up.

The lunatic hadn't said anything at first. He had simply walked up to him in the bar and punched him in the face. Ryan fell and was immediately pinned by the ridiculously tall, (unfairly beautiful) completely psychotic man who, sitting on top of him, growled. "You've just been hiding?"

Ryan blinked up at the man, confused and then he was punched again. And again. And again.

And between punches, he heard the man hissing, "Do you have any idea what this did to him? Have you seen him lately? He's a wreck! And you? You wrecked him!"

People were staring only one interfered. A small man calling out to the maniac and trying to grab him.

"You wrecked my brother," he whispered, suddenly drooping, shaking all over. "You-"

"That's enough, Sherlock." A posh voice said from above Ryan's head. "John, collect your husband."

The short man gathered the trembling lunatic into his arms and herded him away.

The owner of the posh voice walked into his view and looked down at him. "I'm sorry, Gregory. I know you didn't want this," the (even taller!) (even more unfairly beautiful!) posh man said, turning away and heading for the door. "I will ensure that no other well wishers find you."

It wasn't until after the door closed behind the man that Ryan managed to say, "The hell's Gregory?"


	9. Chapter 9

It is fortunate for Sherlock that he is with John, that John has known him for so long, and that John is the wiser of the pair.

Because John understood. John knew exactly why his tall genius husband was still shaking. He understood why his gorgeous, stupid lover would not stop crying.

Oh, John understood very well.

Sherlock's thought process was simple to track.

Mycroft loved Gregory. Gregory had agreed to marry Mycroft. One day, Gregory realized he was better off without Mycroft. Gregory left.

Sherlock loved John. John had agreed to marry Sherlock. Reason said that John, too, would realize he's better off without a Holmes.

And John would leave.

John would not tolerate these thought processes.

"I am not Gregory," he whispered, rocking his oversized toddler of a boyfriend. "You and me and Mycroft and Greg are different."

"I won't leave you," he murmured, resting his chin on Sherlock's curls. "I will never leave you. You won't be alone."


	10. Chapter 10

pre style="font-size: 9pt;"tt All Ryan had to go on was a name. Luckily it wasn't a very common one. It took a few tries to spell it right, but eventually he found a google image of the tall lunatic. Sherlock Holmes.  
Author of The Science of Deduction blog. Subject of another block by a John Watson. Gregory read through post after post (of John's blog. He didn't understand much of Sherlock's) until he came to a post many months old with a very familiar picture. A picture of him. "Gregory Lestrade, DI Scotland Yard, went missing two days ago. Any helpful information can be called in to.."  
Ryan stared at the man in the picture. Then he googled that name.

Gregory Lestrade looked exactly like him. The only difference was the hair color and style. And the bruises. And Gregory Lestrade had vanished just a week before he woke up. He scribbled down the address listed in the blog and headed out of the Internet cafe. He had to go. Maybe the men of 221B Baker Street could give him answers. /tt/pre 


	11. Chapter 11

John heard the bell but did not move to answer it. No one at the door could be more important than his lap full of Sherlock. The bell rang again. Then two more times. Then Mrs. Hudson screamed.

Suddenly the doorbell was important. John settled Sherlock gently on the couch and stood.

Drawing his gun, he made his way silently to the door, which he cracked open to see the intruder.  
There stood Lestrade, trying to calm a shaking Mrs. Hudson.  
Ma'am, you need to sit down. Ma'am!"  
John was angry, to be honest. And when John gets angry, it's not so farfetched that he may pull a gun on his brother in laws runaway husband.

"Mrs. Hudson," John said stiffly. "Why don't you go have a cup of tea. I need a word with our visitor."

Mrs. Hudson looked up at John, the guest, and John again. "Shout if you need me," she said, but she gave a look of disgust at Lestrade, that clearly showed her desire to 'help' the situation. Then she left.

"So. You come here. Now. Why?" The guest opened his mouth, but John interrupted from his place at the top of the stairs. "If I'm not satisfied with your explanation, I will blow a fucking hole through your skull. And I will get away with it. So this better be pretty damn good."  
"I'm not the Detective Inspector," the guest said.  
"I don't want to play any bloody word games, Lestrade. Why are you here?"  
"I'm not Lestrade. Or at least I don't think I am. My name's Ryan Stone. Born in London. Moved to New York at 17. Learned to be a mechanic. Married Susan Burnstein. I have a very simple life."  
"You expect me to believe that shit?" John asked, incredulous.  
"I- um- here, I'll prove it!" The man said, pulling out his mobile. "I'll call Susan, she's my wife." He dialed and put the call on speaker.  
"I told you that if you go to London, I'm not interested in phone calls from you," a female voice said on the line.  
"Um, yeah. Sorry. I was just wondering when our wedding was again. I'm at a pub with some colleagues and they wanted to know. I slipped to the bathroom," Ryan rambled.  
"You forgot again?! How many times Ryan? It'll be nineteen years this November. Now don't call me again till you're in America. I don't care if you forget your own name. Don't call."  
The line went dead.

"But that's not possible," John practically whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

Ryan followed Dr. Watson up the stairs quietly and with much trepidation. The lun- Mr. Holmes- would be there.

Mr. Holmes punched hard.

When they walked into 221B, Mr. Holmes was sitting on the couch in a ratty dressing gown.

He did not look at Ryan. He simply looked at Dr. Watson. Then he nodded and practically flopped down across the couch and rolled over, so his back was to Ryan.

"So, um, Ryan? Something you said out there. You said that you're not Lestrade. But then you said at least you don't think so. The hell does that mean?"

"Well, I um. I was in an accident a year ago," Ryan said anxiously, rubbing his head. "And I woke up a week after your Detective Inspector went missing. I woke up with no memories."

"So, then-"

"But there are records," Ryan continued. "Birth certificate, house deeds, even stupid things like old birthday cards and bowling league trophies. And I've got an entire community of people who've known me for years and I'm in contact with relatives across the world. I have kids and ice been to my parents graves. There's too much proof. It can't be fake, Dr. Watson"

"Yes it can," Mr. Holmes said suddenly, sitting upright, his face burning. "And it's brilliant! John, I need your phone."

"What's wrong with yours?" Dr. Watson whined, already handing over his phone.

"Mycroft," Mr. Holmes said after a brief pause. "Meet me at st. Bart's." There was a pause. "It's about earlier." Another pause, punctuated by an eye roll from Mr. Holmes. "He's here. It's a conspiracy. " Mr. Holmes tossed the phone to Dr. Watson and threw off the dressing gown, revealing a decidedly unimpressive pair of pajamas

"Let's go," he said grabbing his coat and scarf.


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft did not want to meet Sherlock at St. Bart's. He did not want to discuss Gregory Lestrade with Sherlock in St. Bart's. He really didn't want to discuss Gregory Lestrade with Sherlock in St. Bart's with Gregory there.

And yet here he was. Waiting with a suppressed sense of anxious curiosity and desperate hope.

"It's a conspiracy," Sherlock had said. He had sounded excited. Mycroft would not let himself deduce the conversation. This was too important somehow.

Mycroft looked at his hands. It was only through sheer force of will that he was keeping them from shaking.

Mycroft busied himself with his mobile, tapping out an email to the American Secretary of Defence, but twice he caught himself thinking of other things. The email needed full attention. He put down the mobile and stood very still.

Thirty years ago he would have paced the room anxiously. He had trained himself out if that nervous habit, along with foot tapping, rocking, nail biting, and chewing his lips. With no more habits, he simply went still when anxious. It didn't help much.

When Sherlock finally pushed through the double doors followed by John and Gregory, Mycroft had outwardly composed himself. He was standing elegantly in the middle of the room, brolly resting in his hand.

If this was some joke on Sherlock's part, Mycroft felt he might actually draw the blade in his umbrella and stab him.

"Sherlock, John," he greeted, with a nod. "Gregory."

"He's not Gregory," Sherlock blurted. "His names Raymond Stone."

"Ryan," John interrupted.

"He's here on a business trip from his hometown in New York," Sherlock continued. "He has a wife, kids, friends and a life. But he was in a tragic accident that put him in a coma for a year and he woke up with no memories."

"Alright, then," Mycroft said efficiently. "Follow me, Mr. Stone."

"Where are we going?" John muttered at Sherlock.

"DNA testing," Sherlock said as if it were obvious and John was stupid for asking.


	14. Chapter 14

_A thank you to CrypticDevil. I'm not good at keeping up with things without an audience. i probably never would have written this chapter without your review. Hope you enjoy._

'100% match, Mr. Holmes," the technician said. "The two samples are either from twins or from the same man."

"Thank you, Reena," the politician said, plucking the envelope from her hands. "Kindly forget our visit."

Reena turned back to her work as if he wasn't there.

Mycroft stepped out of the lab and into the hallway. He felt confused scared, relieved and, for some reason, a bit heartbroken. Once again, he was just barely suppressing the trembling he felt under his skin.

And there was no one to talk to. Gregory was a stranger now.

Mycroft felt alone.

"Mycroft," his brother's short husband said appearing suddenly in the white hallway.

"Hello, John," he replied, stiff backed and formal as ever. "Did you need me?"

"Mycroft," The ex army doctor repeated quietly.

"Yes John?"

"Let me help you."

John led a quiet Mycroft through the quiet clinical halls of st Bart's. he led him to an empty ward he had commandeered and asked a passing nurse for tea to be brought up. He sat Mycroft down on the bed and sat beside him.

John is always a doctor. He sees pain and immediately assesses it. And then, as a doctor should, he treats it with everything available. Wether the treatment is drugs, or distraction, a listening ear, or the quiet presence of a quiet man.

John placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and for a second, the politician flinched away. Then he settled into the touch and chose to trust the man who saved his brother.

After a few minutes of silence, there was a quiet knock. John stepped outside, accepted the tea and sent a reassuring smile to the consulting detective hovering nervously nearby.

John returned to the silent ward and handed Mycroft the tea.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, his voice stiff and stilted.

"Yes," John confirmed. "Pretending to read the paper. Why the two of you can't..." He trailed off, sighing as he sat again, replacing his hand.

A few more moments passed in silence before John began.

"You're just a man Mycroft. You're tall, handsome, brilliant but you are not a god. You aren't above human emotion anymore than you are above the human need to eat. Your choosing to hide the pain doesn't make you stronger and it doesn't lessen it."

"You don't need to be brave with me, Mycroft. I will not think less of the British government or of you. I know how powerful you are and I know that some people would call you a god. You are a man, Mycroft, and even gods are allowed to cry."

"I-" Mycroft began in a half choked whisper.

"I-" he tried again, but this time it came out a strangled sob.

When John wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, Mycroft let go of six months' pain an loss. He cried like he hadn't cried since the day they found Sherlock, half dead, rail thin and drugged out of his mind. For the first time since his early childhood he let himself cry in front of another person.

John held the British government tight until he simply fell asleep


	15. Chapter 15

_Faiytailsaurus- I am confused by your review, but here's a chapter for you_

Ryan sat silently in that room for two hours. Having taken DNA samples, the technicians proceeded to ignore him. The gorgeous tall man (not Mr. Holmes. The taller one with the umbrella) had left right after ordering the test. Dr. Watson had left shortly after, looking concerned.

Mr. Holmes had tried to sit with him but had fidgeted more and more before excusing himself and rushing off.

The technicians hadn't even showed him the results.

"You'll have to talk to Mr. Holmes," they kept telling him (Which was confusing all by itself. They talked about him like he was their boss, while Ryan knew for a fact from the two blogs that Sherlock was just a self employed detective (a brilliant, arrogant arse, but still just a detective). He was missing something here.).

Ryan jumped when the opening music of Eye of the Tiger emanated from his pocket. (He hadn't changed the ringtone since his coma.) He glanced at the screen, saw his brother's name and a slight shiver ran down his spine.

If he was Gregory Lestrade, who was the man he called brother?

'''''''''''

He didn't pick up the phone.

Mycroft woke up momentarily confused. He did not remember falling asleep and it took a few moments for him to recognize the hospital room. As his brain quickly filled him in on everything that happened the day before, he groaned. Then he started sorting information, making connections and planning.

He mentally thanked John for the suit, loafers, umbrella and other basic necessities he had left sitting beside the bed. He quickly dressed and sent a quick text to Anthea.

For a strange giddy moment he felt like Sherlock.

Time to solve a mystery.

''''''''''

It was Dr. Watson who came back for him.

"Sorry for the wait. I had... Well, I was needed elsewhere."

"Did they get the results?" Ryan asked reluctantly. I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

"Yes," The doctor frowned.

"And?" I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

"The samples were a match and since you- I mean Greg- didn't have an identical twin, I think it's safe to say that you are Gregory Lestrade."

"But then who- my wife? My kids? My house?"

"Mycroft is looking into all of that. He will likely be in soon to discuss details." Dr. Watson placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and led him out of the room. "I can see you're stressed and nervous, which is normal considering the situation you're in. Let me take you to a room so you can rest, eat, maybe sleep."

Gregory followed him through the hospital to a small private room. Dr. Watson watched quietly as he looked around at the bed, bathroom, tray of food. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, and finally said, "You don't need to be worry about working any of this out. When you're involved, Mycroft takes care of everything." With that, the short doctor nodded at him and left the room.

Mycroft must be the taller man. Suddenly he felt an intense longing for his laptop.

He wanted to know more about this Mycroft.


	16. Chapter 16

The doorbell rang. The woman called Susan Stone lifted the baby and opened the door to find a round balding man on the porch.

"Archie, what brings you here?" She asked, pleasantly.

"We've hot trouble," Archie said, stepping past her into the house. "His search history. Brother's been working things out."

"How bad is it? Can we re-administer the drug?"

"He searched google images for Sherlock," the balding man scratched his head nervously."

"Holy fuck, He _MET_ Sherlock then?"

"It gets worse. He followed a link back to Watson's damn blog. He ended up on the page about his disappearance."

"What time was this?" Susan asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

"Shortly after 2."

"Crap! He called me at 3 to ask about our wedding. Someone else must've been listening. We're compromised!"

"Why did you let him go, for Christ's sake?" Archie demanded.

"Like I could stop him. Why didn't you tell me as soon as this happened?" She snapped back.

"I don't spend all day monitoring his Internet usage! Besides it wouldn't have helped. He already met-"

"Well, if I'd _KNOWN_ , I could've pretended on the phone. Told him to stop stalking me. Something! Instead I _VALIDATED_ his story. Now they know I'm real. They know it's all real!" The baby had started to cry from all the yelling. Susan stepped into the living room and stuck it in front of the television with its siblings. "Maybe it's okay," the bald man said desperately. "Maybe they'll think it's a fluke. He just happens to look like Lestrade."

"Holmes isn't stupid. At the very least he'll take him for DNA testing, but more likely he already knows."

"So what do we do? What the hell do we do now?"

"Abandon ship," she said looking around the room. "I should probably leave most things as is. I need boxes for my stuff," she continued to herself.

"But the other projects-"

"Terminate them. We're dead if we don't get underground. Holmes will kill us all." She said, rifling through a draw.

"The other customers. They'll-"

"Well you better pray we get far enough underground."

"And the brats?"

"Well, _I_ don't need them."

"Fuck, this is bad," Archie said, walking towards the door and pulling out his cellphone. "I'll alert the community."

Susan Stone peaked into the other room where the 3 brats were watching some singing cartoon.

"Well, chance of death and a shitload of work, but at least I can quit the mommy game."

 _Things are going to get complicated soon. I will be working with science that doesn't exist, with the memory drugs and stuff. I reserve the right to completely make up side effects, withdrawal effects, how long it lasts and how long the wearing off process takes. Please just bear with me._

 _Also, reviews are the only thing that keeps me writing. Without them, a random bout of depression makes me quit the story for months on end_

 _-EA_


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft stood outside the door for twenty three minutes. Passing doctors and nurses stared at him, but he hardly noticed.

On the other side of the door was his husband. His husband who had no idea who he was.

In his pocket, his hand fidgeted with a thick gold band. He pulled it out to stare at it. The wedding band Gregory had given him almost never left his finger, as proved by the tan line.

Now he debated on keeping it hidden. On the one hand, he should just tell Gregory of their past. On the other, that might scare him off. If he was to court Gregory all over again, it wouldn't do if Gregory thought he was taken.

In the end, he slipped the ring back on. Most likely, Gregory wouldn't notice the ring (unless, of course, he wanted to know if Mycroft was single).

He knocked.

"Come in," Gregory's voice filtered through the door. Mycroft's eyes closed and he sighed, savoring the sound of the voice he thought he'd never hear again. With a fortifying nod, Mycroft stepped into the hospital room.

"Mr. Stone? I am Mycroft Holmes," said Mycroft Holmes offering a handshake. Gregory quickly got to his feet and shook.

"Actually, I think I'd prefer Greg for now, maybe?" Gregory said, ducking his head to hide the rather endearing blush that had often graced his face when Mycroft had first started courting him. As the blush faded, Mycroft lowered his gaze to examine Gregory's hand I'm his own.

His face fell.

There on Gregory's ring finger was a thick silver band. Mycroft felt his heart constrict.

Then he was angry. Gregory was _HIS HUSBAND_! How dare some _BITCH_ put a ring on him. His mind quickly ran through the many ways he could kill this so called Susan Stone. Poisoning if he was in a rush. Dismemberment. Locking her away and starving her. Infecting her with smallpox.

"Sir?" Mycroft quickly refocused.

"Mycroft. It's Mycroft," he said quickly. "I have a few questions for you if you have a moment."

"Can I ask you one first? I- sorry. Go ahead."

"No. Go ahead. What can I help you with?"

"Dr. Watson said," Gregory began. Then he stopped and shook his head. "Sorry. He just said," Gregory took a deep breath and blurted "He said that when I'm involved, you take care of everything."

"Well. That is true, but it's not a question."

"Who are we? I mean, to each other?"

"I'm not sure if you want to hear this yet. It may be a bit-" Mycroft cut himself off.

"I want to know. Can you just tell me?"

"I," Mycroft hesitated. "We're married. I am your husband."

"So," Gregory said, and Mycroft could hear a slight panic. "That explains the ring." He said, gesturing at Mycroft's right hand.

"Actually, no," Mycroft said glancing at his right hand. "This is something else. We- I mean, I- always wear the ring on my left hand."

Gregory looked down at his own hand. He slid the silver band off his finger and brought it to his eye. "It always did feel uncomfortable. Like I wasn't used to it." He lowered the ring and placed it on the bedside table. "You had some questions, right?"

"Yes. We'll start basic. Where were you living?"


	18. Chapter 18

_Sorry about this. I_ had _to. Seriously. I'm not good at avoiding temptation. On the other hand, two chapters at once aint bad?_

Scott Young parked his car and stepped into the silent streets.

"Place looks empty," his partner said, slamming the passenger door.

"I'm not blind, Baron. 'Sides, Captain said it'd probably be deserted. That's why he sent us alone." Young scanned the streets and started walking down the street.

"He said there'd be reinforcements from another department." Baron jogged after him, pulling his gun.

"We'll don't think we'll be needing it now. Don't think we need the gun eith-" Scott stopped shirt and motioned for Baron's silence. "I hear something," he mouthed.

"-mass amnesia." A voice was saying. "What causes that?" A deeper voice answered.

"I dunno. Maybe Lethe?"

"Like in Sailor Moon?"

"You've read- wait, never mind. I mean the River Lethe? The Goddess Lethe?"

There's a GODDESS-?"

On a signal from Scott, Baron followed him out to face these guys, guns raised.

The taller guy put his hands up a little, while the shorter reached for a holster.

"Who the hell are you?" Baron barked. "Hands away from your gun."

"We're with the FBI. We're here about the-"

"Gun down, Baron," Young told his partner. "They're our backup. Badges?"

They reached in their pockets slowly and pulled out their badges. "I'm Agent Brown," the tall one said. "This is my partner Agent Still."

"Agents Young and Baron," Young said showing his own. "So, I don't know what they covered in your briefing, but it seems like this town was some sort of crime ring. They got wind of the bust and they bailed."

"You noticed the hospital records?" Brown asked, "twelve cases of amnesia in the past year."

"No. We just knew the one we were told about. Did you get that info to HQ?"

Young's phone rang. "Agent Young."

"Would you pass a message to Agents Still and Brown?" A women's British accent said through the phone. "Tell them that the British Government knows who they are and assures them that this is not their kind of case. Inform them that there is a young wan in New Jersey whom they should check out. The name's Carla Marsgrave. Good day."

"Who are you?" Young asked, but the Brit had already hung up. With no real reason not to, he repeated the message to the agents, who shrugged and- after a short murmured conversation- left in a shiny black car.

"There goes our backup. Who was that on the phone?"

"The British Government, apparently. Let's continue looking."

Everywhere they looked was silent and motionless.

"This place is so eerie," Baron whispered, staring through an open door. "Houses untouched, but everyone's gone."

Scott motioned for quiet again. He jerked his head at one house and gestured for Baron to follow him.

As soon as they reached the stairs, the doors burst open and a man with a gun yelled, "Who are you?"

Scott slowly lowered his weapon. "We're with the FBI. We're here to help you. If you'll let me, I'll take out my badge and toss it over."

"Alright. Slowly."

When the man was satisfied, the two agents were led into the house.


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry about y last chapter. And for the really long wait. I'm really not great at this._

 _I've kinda lost my nerve, so if this chapter totally sucks, you don't need to tell me. I already know._

The plane landed in some sort of secret air base. Ryan- or Greg. He didn't know what to call himself at this point- didnt really know how to react to all the official looking waiting to escort them off the private jet.

In the past six months, Ryan had gotten used to a certain way of life, a way that involved frequent trips to Walmart, walking to save gas money and crappy diners.

Now it turned out he's the husband of one of the most rich, powerful men in the world. The life he was meant to have involved tailor-maid custom suits, private jets and restraints that costed more than a weeks pay at his diner job.

Part of him was sure this was an elaborate hoax. Yet as they flew over the Atlantic, calls and emails had come through with answers and explanations about his past life. Digital copies of his birth certificate, marriage license, and house deed were found and proven to be fake.

And the FBI had called. His town was found almost completely abandoned.

They had found other people there. A Senator's missing daughter. A German millionaire's sister. A movie star who had vanished two years ago and who had been living as a waitress ever since.

Ryan stayed silent as they were escorted to a car and driven to a big building. The drive went on for hours, hours in which Mycroft attended to his phone with a focus that left no room for interruption. Ryan sat uncomfortably beside him and worried.

For the second time in his life, Mycroft felt really stupid. He could convince a murderous dictator not to slaughter his citizens. He could convince angry officials to hold off on their bombs. He knew just what to say to turn an enemy into an ally.

But leave him with his confused, amnesiac husband and he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to make him remember. He doesn't know how to make him stay.

He should have brought John. John would know how to talk to Gregory. How to reassure him and make him not leave Mycroft.

He could feel Greg's eyes on him as I typed out instructions for Anthea to send to Agent Young of the FBI. He should say something. Something sweet and reassuring and not at all uncomfortable.

For the life of him he couldn't remember what sorts of things he had said while courting Gregory the first time.

(He could remember what Sherlock had said. "Courting? What century are you living in?" And "Just kiss him, moron.")

"We'll be there in another half an hour he told Gregory, suddenly breaking the silence. He mentally kicked himself. That was honestly the best thing he could think of to say?

"Thanks." Gregory answered. They lapsed back into silence for the rest of the ride.

The building they were brought to looked like a warehouse from the outside. The room the elevator took them to, however, looked like a hospital ward. The room was full of people, mostly small children, many of whom he knew from around the neighborhood.

It was the group of children in the far corner that Ryan was most interested.

"Andy?" He called cautiously as he walked over to them. "Sandry?"

Two of the little girls turned and ran over to him.

"Poppy!" The first one shrieked, launching on to him and pulling him down. "The big boys said you won't come" She whispered.

"Of course i came back, Andy. You two are my little girls." He found that he was crying as he held her. That whole plane ride he had wondered if he would find them here, worrying that Susan had snatched them away.

"We're not little, Poppy," Sandry protested. "If we were little, we'd be in the baby room with Charlie. Everyone who's not three went there, but three is big kid age."

"Sandry's little cuz she was crying."

"I was not!" Sandry protested, latching herself onto his back. "Also Poppy's crying and he's not little."

"Who's the angry man, uncle Ryan? And why does he have an umbrella when it's not even raining now?" The third girl in the group asked. Ryan looked at his niece. Her parents wouldn't be coming back for her. There was no way he was leaving her here.

"I don't know, Ollie. Why don't you ask him?" He said distractedly.

"Okay," Ollie said before going over to Mycroft.

"Wait-!" He tried to grab her as he remembered who they were talking about. It was too late.

"I know they're not biologically my children but I'm keeping them," Gregory whispered almost angrily as the girls gathered their stuff.

"What? Of course you are. Who said you couldn't?"

"I dunno. I just thought- cuz I'm supposed to be your husband?"

"Gregory," Mycroft said softly. "You're not SUPPOSED to be anything. You can have your kids. You can leave. You could marry someone else or move to the other side of the earth. I want you to stay Gregory, but I love you more. You do what you want. Just know, that as long as you let me, I will do whatever I can to keep you happy."

Gregory stared at him, clearly nervous and unsure what to say.

"Why don't you introduce them?"

"Okay. Um- this is Charlie- Charleston Anaximander, actually. The twin with long hair is Andriana Madeline and the short haired one is Lydia Sandreline."

"And Olivia Maxine London is your niece," Mycroft finished. She seems quite intelligent."

"Yeah. My sister Tori and her husband Archie. Well, I guess not my sister really."

"He was one of the bad guys, right?" Olivia Maxine said from behind them. "And mom wasn't even real. And don't lie cuz I'm not stupid."

"I'm sorry, but yes, Ollie. He wasn't even your real dad. But I'm still your uncle, and I'm going to take care of you."

"With Mr. Mycroft?" Olivia Maxine said slyly, and for a second Mucroft wanted to stick a gag on her.

"Why-"

"You're gonna marry him, right?" She teased in a singsong voice.

"How-?" Gregory was turning red and sputtering.

"Aunt Susan says you like to kiss boys,"she explained wisely. "She says you think they're pretty."

Finally, in a very strained voice, Gregory said, "why don't you help the girls pack?"

"Mr. Mycroft, he's only making me go cuz it's true. When he marries you, I hope you like your wedding. Also, I should help cuz they're three and I'm seven," with that she turned smartly on her heel and walked off.

Gregory excused himself to the bathroom.

Mycroft did not, at all, even a little bit, burst into a hysterical laughing fit as soon as he found an empty room to do it in.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hi all, pretty short chapter here, but my last was longer so you know, I hope it equals out or something. I really love Olivia Maxine as you'll notice. I invented her forever ago and she's just been this little girl growing up in my head._

 _I'm also posting what I hope will be a series of short little stories called "M is for Many, Many things when you think about it" as a thank you to my followers, my commenters, and especially for fairytailasaurus who keeps me posting._

The flight back was considerably less awkward. Mostly because Ryan was busy with the kids. Partly because Mycroft was a little calmer.

Ollie's whole speech was still making Him squirm, but it's not like anyone there didn't already know all that.

He had, apparently, married Mycroft. If Mycroft didn't know he was bi, that would probably be pretty weird.

"I've never been on a plane before," Ollie was saying as she sipped her Coke. He always said it was too expensive. I think he was telling the truth, because this plane probably needs more gas than the car. Plus there's only thirteen people on the plane, so they can't even split the gas like aunt Susan did when she had Walmart carpools."

Ollie had been talking through most of the flight, sharing opinions on everything from custard ("it's slimy and yellow but yummy, so I close my eyes when I eat it") to whales ("they look like fish, but they aren't really, so that's maybe why the aquarium didn't have one") to Rosie from the pizza store ("the FBI people say she's really a movie star, but I don't think she's rich enough to be one").

Mycroft seemed to enjoy her company and she loved having an adult who listened.

Sandry and Andy had been extremely hyper at the beginning of the flight, but had fallen asleep about an hour in.

Ryan was largely unoccupied, so he watched Mycroft.

He was attractive, and Ryan was definitely attracted to him.

And it wasn't all looks either. It was the way Mycroft could love him without demanding anything in return. It was the way Mycroft could listen to his niece talk for three hours straight. It was the way Mycroft looked at him as if he was worth anything and everything. It was the way Mycroft got nervous when they talked.

Looking at Mycroft, Ryan wanted to be Greg. Wanted to love and be loved by this man. This man who loved him even though he changed. This man who wanted to raise his kids.

He worried a bit that he was getting too emotional too fast. Than he remembered that this wasn't really new.

This was just remembering.


	21. Chapter 21

Mycroft dropped Greg (yes, Greg. He was Greg now) and the four kids off at the (ridiculously oversized and gorgeous) apartment he had rented for them. Andy and Sandry were delighted by the 'princess room' that 'Mr. Mycroft' had made for them.  
"It's pink! And the beds have curtains!" Andy told him for about the twelfth time since they'd arrived an hour ago.  
"And there's a fluffy rug!" Sandry added again. "And a tea party table! And all our dolls!"  
Mycroft had sent people to get his girls' toys.  
Ollie, who was seven and too old for princesses, loved her room, too. The decorator Mycroft had hired had done her research. She especially loved the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling.  
"When I'm bigger, I'm gonna get a telescope. When I'm a lot bigger, I'll be an astronaut. Or Maybe I'll be a police lady."  
Greg's room was simple. It was dcorated in brown and blue with a large bed and a full bookshelf.  
The most interesting thing in his room was the book on the bed. Like the one Susan had made, it was full of documents and a handwritten narrative of his life.  
Unlike Susan's, this one gave Greg that sense of nostalgia he had, until now, only gotten from cop shows.  
Greg had not gone to sleep last night, instead spending his time poring over Mycroft's precise, elegant handwriting. Examining pictures of two men so clearly in love. Picturing the events of hundreds of stories and trying to remember them.  
His girls, always early risers, came for him at noon (seven am for the jet lagged kids).  
"Is there really no playgroup, poppy?" Andy asked, climbing into his lap. "Cuz Ollie says no, cuz we're not in New York."  
"She's right, sweetie. You're not going to playgroup for a while. Instead you're gonna-"  
And then he stopped because he had no idea what the girls were going to do here.  
He'll he didn't know what to serve them for breakfast here.  
Just as his freak out began, Ollie walked in with a plate of eggs.  
"The man in the kitchen says to see if you're up and to give this to you. He made us pancakes and he says he should talk to you when you want to."  
"Thanks, sweetie," Greg said, placing the book on the night table. He stood up slowly, groaning under the weight of the girl hanging off his neck.  
He was exhausted. He had slept in the hospital, but had woken at 6. He'd taken a 7 hour flight to a different time zone. Seven hours flight and it was still 9 in the bloody morning! Three hours later and he was on his second seven hour flight of the day! And then it was past midnight. The girls were wide awake (it was only 7:30 for them and they slept on the plane).  
And then he hadn't slept. He really didn't know how he was going to watch the girls all day.  
Or Charlie.  
Who was crying.  
He walked into the hallway, dragging the foot Andy was wrapped around.  
By the time he reached the kitchen, Charlie had stopped crying.  
This was probably because the lun- Mr. Holmes was holding him as he set the table (sort of. He disnt seem to know where everything belonged) lecturing him on something about brains, time of death and a worm of sorts.  
It confused Greg.  
It amused Charlie.  
It also amused Dr. Watson who was shaking as he stood over a frying pan.  
"But the confounding effects of dose and time of death preclude conclusions about factors influencing the distribution of adult worms, Charleston Anaximander."  
Sherlock was saying as he placed serving forks on each plate. "You don't understand this, but at least you listen. John tells me to shut up and use my mouth-"  
"SHERLOCK!"


	22. Chapter 22

_Hey all. Sorry for leaving you all hanging for so long. Please understand. I currently have three jobs, plus I'm in college. And I can't write on Saturday because of religious reasons._

 _I generally completely forget my stories until i get an email from fanfiction._

 _Thank you, reviewers and followers! I didn't expect to have any. I just love Mystrade and didn't think there were enough stories for this ship_

 _Thanks guys_

"Thank you again, Dr. Watson," Greg said as the girls put on their new jackets and boots.  
"It's John actually, John said as he strapped Charlie into his pram. "And it's no problem. We're just going to show them around London."  
Then in a whisper he added "I think Sherlock's excited. He's quite taken with Olivia."  
When they left, Greg went back to his book but fell into a deep sleep before he got it open.

()()()()()()()()()()()(

Mycroft hadn't slept either. He had contacted every connection he had who might be able to give him a lead. He had obtained blood samples and a lot more from the other victims. He had joined Sherlock for an hour in the lab until he was thrown out for "worrying too loudly". Then he started looking into the other amnesiacs. Now he was sorting through the CCTV footage from upstate New York and the official medical records of Ryan Stone.  
"Sir, I think I've found it."  
Mycroft jumped to his feet, swayed a little, caught himself on his coat rack and reached for the file.  
"Thank you, Peters," he said, but it was lost in the crash of the coat rack, which was not built to support falling governments.  
"Thank you, Peters," he repeated, sitting and opening the file. "Tell me what we have here."  
"The FBI found a few documents at the hospital. They referred to a drug called  
Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne was-"  
"Goddess of Memory. Do we know what this drug contained?"  
"We've noticed a few patterns in the victims, but the most telling was a compound similar to Hyoscine hydrobromide. Which is known for-"  
"A side effect of memory loss. This is brilliant. That one small change and-" he cut himself off. "Sherlock will be down shortly, I'm sure, to redo all your tests-"  
"Yes, that was the other thing. He is redoing the tests."  
"G-"  
"He has an infant with him. And a child."  
Mycroft sighed. "I'll take care of it."  
"No you won't," Anthea said entering the room. "Peters, I'll have Dr. Watson down to remove the three children shortly. You may return to work."  
Turning to Mycroft she added. "Mr. Holmes, your car is waiting."  
"I didn't request a car." Mycroft said trying to focus on the documents.  
"And yet it's here. The car will take you to your home so you can sleep." Anthea said quickly, removing his coat from the fallen rack.  
"I actually planned to-" Mycroft tried, but he was cutoff.  
"Gregory is sleeping now, as well, so your plans will have to wait."  
"Sleeping can w-!" He started, rising, but he toppled and hit the floor.  
Anthea opened the door and ushered in the 2 members of security she had waiting to carry him to the car. Then she removed the quickly cooling cup of tea she had prepared.  
It was always so convenient when Mr. Holmes fell unconscious on schedule.


	23. Chapter 23

_This one's not very long, but why don't you check out my series of shorts_ , _M is for Many, Many Things When You Think About It_ _and let me know what you think?_

 _Also, just a reminder that I reserve the right to completely make up scientific facts. I made up some fun stuff in some previous chapters._

At nine pm, Mycroft was in the St. Bart's lab with Sherlock. A tired John was blogging in the back. One very flustered temp was explaining his findings.  
"It- um, seems likely that the drug- uh, Mnemosyne. That the drug was administered multiply, I mean multiple times," the temp was stuttering. "And um. That suggests-"  
"That the drug wears off with time." Sherlock interrupted. "Yes. We got that. Mycroft, where do you find these idi-"  
"Sherlock."  
"Sorry, John. What we're looking for-"  
"Sherlock, that's..."  
"Right. Sorry Davidson. What we're looking-"  
"Davies, Sherlock." Mycroft said politely. "Do go on, Mr. Davies."  
"That. Um. That was pretty much all I found, um, Mr. Holmes."  
"In twelve hours? Are you a mor-?"  
"Mycroft."  
"Sorry, John. Sorry Davies."  
"Mycroft. Why don't you and I head over to Greg's place. The kids are in bed. I'll babysit, you can take him out, and Sherlock can terrorize the temp until he finds the information he needs."  
"Alright. I'll have Anthea send the car."  
John kissed Sherlock chastely. "If you get the information without terrorizing any member of the staff here, I will be in a very good mood tonight. I may even- I don't know- try on those new shoes I ordered. Have a lovely, productive evening."

The silence in the car was rather uncomfortable. Mycroft was pretending to read a file but his eyes weren't moving.  
"I know you're nervous," he said, finally.  
"John. If you don't mind-" Mycroft began, pleasantly. Then he paused. "Actually. Yes. I am. Gregory is my husband. And I love him. But I'm terrible at relationships. I was-" he paused. "Well, you could say I got lucky the first time around. I have gotten older since I last courted him. I have," he sighed. "Put on weight, lost hair and not improved in any way since I last courted him. I will not likely get lucky again."  
Mycroft looked at John expectantly.  
"He's attracted to you."  
"How?"  
"He's attracted to you. He thinks you're handsomer than Sherlock. And he wishes he had his wedding ring."  
"How do you-?"  
"Sherlock's been teaching me," he smiled. "Not really. Ollie really likes talking."  
"Oh."  
"We're here. Go on in and invite him out. Conveniently you already know all his likes and dislikes. Take him to his favorite place," John shrugged and they exited the car.  
Mycroft adjusted his coat, tucked his umbrella under his arm and approached the door


	24. Chapter 24

I'm a horrible person for leaving you hanging for so long. There's this holiday coming up. Take's months of cleaning. I'm so not exaggerating. I actually forgot this story existed for a while there  
Also, we are getting into relatioshipy stuff. I know less about relationships then i do about science. and this stuff is harder to make up  
Thanks for your support and patience  
++++++++++

"It's not fair."

John turned back to the girl he had just tucked into bed. "What's not fair?"

"Why don't I get a family?" John could hear her voice shaking and went back to sit with the crying girl. "Andy and Sandry had two parents and siblings. I just had a dad. Now they still have a dad AND they're getting another one. And I don't have anything anymore."

"But Ollie, you're part of Andy and Sandry's family," he said reassuringly.

"But I don't want to be part of their family. I want a daddy and a mommy. Not an uncle. I want my own family." With that, she burst into tears and John held her till she fell asleep.

::::::::::

Mycroft and Gregory were doing okay, for now. Mycroft had updated Gregory on the drug. They'd talked about their days. They'd poked at their food a lot.

The big problem with their conversation was the fact that Gregory had no memories from more than a few months back. And what he did remember wax all lies. They could hardly chat about growing up or jobs when one of them thought he spent his whole life fixing motors when he didn't even know how to operate the rear view camera thing.

What is there to talk about?

At first there were many awkward pauses. At a loss, Mycroft was rarely the one to break the silence. Instead, Gregory would awkwardly clear his throat, and ask some question, about their life together, about British life, about his life.

It didn't take long for Mycroft to figure out that Gregory just wanted data. Mycroft was good at data. Names. Dates. Places. Mycroft filled the rest of their dinner with a narrative of life in London, both personal and general. Gregory would interrupt every now and then with a question, an observation and once (to Mycroft's great pleasure) a surprised bark of laughter.

"Thank you for dinner, Mycroft," Gregory said with a hint of shyness as they walked up to his flat.

"It was my pleasure, Gregory," Mycroft answered sincerely. "In fact, I was hoping to ask you out again in the future."

"I-" Gregory began, flustered. "Yes. I would like that."

"Thank you, Gregory.," Mycroft said as they stopped in front of Gregory's door. He reached into his pocket. "Before we say good night, I wanted to return something to you." He handed Gregory a cell phone. "This is yours. I confess, I went through it to check for any leads when you-. I haven't changed anything. My number's in here, as are John's, Sherlock's, and many others that may be useful."

Gregory held it gingerly. Mycroft reminded himself that it was a lot more valuable than the things Gregory was accustomed to in his fake life. He turned it on and frowned.

"Who are these men on my screen?"

Mycroft had an idea.

!

Mycroft, John and Sherlock showed up at ten the next morning.

John led two large men in and showed them where to place the large monitor. Producing various wires from a bag, he plugged the monitor into his laptop.

Mycroft prepared breakfast. He had brought Cinnamon Toast Crunch for the girls (Greg wondered if it was available in London or if Mycroft had the girls favorite cereal flown in from New York) and was cooking eggs for the adults. Sherlock and the girls were sitting on the floor with a popcorn machine popping far too much popcorn. They were also pouring obscene amounts of butter, chocolate, caramel and other less-than-healthy toppings over all it. All four of them were giggling as they mixed their concoctions and locked their fingers.

After an hour or so, the four adults, three kids and one infant were gathered on the two sofas, the spread out blanket and various cushions, eating but not talking as the show began.

§§§§§§§§§§

It was disconcerting. Gregory had a tendency to, well, giggle when the music began. Now, watching him watch with nothing more than a look of vague confusion was, again, disconcerting.

Gregory frowned at the screen. "Isn't this show a bit... Girly? Did I really like this? It's just some girls boring life!"

"Would you SHUT UP!" John roared from his place on the floor.

Gregory leaned over to Mycroft hesitantly. "Should the girls be watching this?" He whispered, glancing nervously at John who had shot him a rather nasty look.

"Forgive him," he whispered back. "And I don't have much experience with children. That's your call."

Gregory and the girls shrieked as the mannequins began to move.

!¡!¡!¡!¡!¡

"One more episode?"

"It's late. You should get some sleep."

"But the series finale is next!"

"We'll continue tomorrow-"

"But we've only met one of the men from my phone!"

"Tomorrow. Andromeda Madeline and

Minerva Sandrilene need their sleep even if you don't. And they'll be very put out if you continue without them."

"Fine. Tomorrow then. Goodnight Mycroft."

"Goodnight, Gregory." Mycroft turned to leave.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes," he said, turning back.

"Thank you for sharing this with me. It's a great show."

"It was my pleasure, Gregory. You always were a whovian."

"Whovian. I like that."


	25. Chapter 25

_Hey all. Two posts in two days. Shocking._

 _Let me know what you're thinking by reviewing, please_

 _-EA_

"I don't think this is healthy," Greg said once the twins were in bed the next day. "We've been watching TV for two days straight. I think we all need to start keeping some sort of schedule."

John stretched lazily from where he was laying on Sherlock's lap. "I've been meaning to bring that up. Ollie definitely needs to go back to school. I actually got the paperwork-" he grunted, sitting up and grabbing for the case he'd brought with him. "I'm told registration will probably be a pain in the-"

"Mycroft, John," Sherlock mumbled sleepily.

"Right. So I can probably just toss these papers then."

Greg looked at Mycroft, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time what his job was. "Could you get Ollie into school?" He asked.

"Of course. Just give me one moment." Mycroft tapped out a message on his phone. "It will all be taken care of tonight. She could start tomorrow if she wants," he paused and Gregory saw him glance at Ollie, who had just reentered the room. She was in her pajamas, hair dripping and she was scowling. "Or, better yet, she can start on Monday."

"Fine. Well wait till Monday," Greg told Ollie. "We need to get you supplies anyway."

"We could enroll Andy and Sandry in crèche," John said, slowly standing up. "Leaves you with just Charlie during the day." He pulled Sherlock to his feet. "We're gonna head on home before we end up camped out on your floor. Night Greg, Mycroft."

Once they'd gone, Greg tucked Ollie into bed while Mycroft fixed drinks.

"Is crèche like preschool, then?" Greg asked sipping his coffee.

"Yes. I can help you get the girls enrolled whenever you'd like. Which just leaves you."

"Me?"

"Well, I was wondering what you might want to do in London."

"I don't know. I guess I could work in a diner or something?"

"Well, there isn't any rush. You don't need to jump into a job. You can look into your options and make a decision."

Greg frowned. There was something weighing on him and it was time to open up.

"Mycroft," he began hesitantly. "You've been really great to me. I'm really grateful for everything, the apartment, the stuff for the girls, the food. Everything. It's just," he paused. Took a deep breath. "I can't live off your charity. I'll take a job. I won't be able to afford this place, but I can find something cheaper I'm sure. I just really can't live off charity."

"First of all, Gregory, it can hardly be called charity. You are my husband. Unless you decide you dont want it, my money is yours. Secondly, you could afford ten apartments like this one. You have a rather large sum of money in the bank. I apologize that it took me this long to remember it. If you want, we could go to the bank tomorrow and get you access to your account."

"Oh."

•}{•}{•}{•}{•}{•

"Don't fall asleep on me, love," John said as he led Sherlock through the streets of London.

"I won't," Sherlock yawned. "I'm not actually tired. Just waking up from a nap."

"Are you going to be up all night working on your worms then?"

"Yes. I told Olivia Maxine she could come see it tomorrow. I want to have it ready."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then, as they waited at the light John asked "What do you think of her?"

"Of Olivia Maxine? She's clever. Really clever."

"Do you like her?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm hungry."


End file.
